


Rhapsody Red

by alkalinecrisp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Love, M/M, Mercenaries, Red Riding Hood Elements, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, fantasy fusion i guess????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15188180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkalinecrisp/pseuds/alkalinecrisp
Summary: Mercenaries are never seen, never heard, and never miss. Keith knows the risk of making a deal with one of the most deceitful and double-dealing of them all, but he's willing to do whatever it takes to cure his brother.





	1. Chapter 1

Tending to customers wasn’t Keith's forte.

They were always trying to dodge the full price of items. They always knew his father from way back when, so they can have a discount, right? Just a little one? Just for me?

‘I could always get my steel from elsewhere.’ Right now the woman across from Keith had her nose nearly hitting the ceiling as she looked down on him. She’d been bargaining with him for the past ten minutes. ‘We would hate to lose a valuable customer, but I can recommend some sufficient forgeries for your specifications.’ His offer only made her squinty eyes squint harder. ‘That’s alright. I’ll take what I can get. 15 silver coins for that dagger.’ She waved her hand to the display counter underneath them and the simple bone dagger that lay in the center. 

Keith sighed. ‘20 coins. I’m sorry, that’s the lowest I can go.’ The woman sniffed, peering down at the weapon. ‘What’s it carved out of?’

‘Wolf. By my brother himself.’ She seemed to perk up at that. ‘I assure you, ma’am, 20 silver coins is a perfectly reasonable price for such an item.’ She crossed her arms, glancing around the dim store sheepishly. ‘I suppose,’ she muttered, ‘it wouldn’t hurt to raise the price. Especially for your family's sake.’ Keith didn’t have time to respond as she scattered the coins across the glass top. He kept his mouth shut, his logic winning out this time as he crouched under the counter to retrieve the dagger. Besides, he hadn’t been lying. He couldn’t afford to lose another customer, as Shiro had sternly recited a million times over. _Keep business good,_ he had said, _and for God’s sake, don’t snap back, Keith. The best revenge is no revenge._

Keith handed the woman her weapon, and she smiled tightly. ‘Give my best to your brother.’ He nodded quickly as she said her goodbyes and left the store, leaving him alone once again surrounded by the glint of metals. Keith watched the clock along the far wall. Closing time was only 10 minutes away, and no one was going to bother coming in. He set to packing up - draping cloth over the display cabinets, dusting off shelves and sweeping the floor. The shop was so small and cluttered that there was barely anything to clean. You couldn’t spread your arms without knocking something over. Before the clock could strike six, Keith was locking the door behind him and setting off across the street. Winter was in its midst, and he watched as his breath billowed out around him. 

Marmora wasn’t a renowned city. The lives of the people were grey and short, the seasons long and brutal. Sometimes travellers passed through, but they always found the tales to be true - Marmora was indeed the labour district of the country. Soot-slick people walked the streets, charcoal so deeply embedded in their nails it could never be scrubbed out. No one smiled, no one laughed, and no one so much as glanced at the clean and bright-eyed newcomers that gawked at the townspeople like animals in a petting zoo. Marmora was only standing due to its reputation for its unrivalled weaponry. The trade of steelwork with other cities was how it kept its walls from crumbling and its people fed. The only time Marmora paid attention to strangers was when soldiers or mercenaries were empty-handed. 

Keith’s street was lined with identical brick houses, complete with the same window panes and fence colour. Marmora was built for practicality, and the only distinguishable feature between each house was the white painted numbers on each door. Outside of no. 34, Keith kicked the mud off his boots and went to open the door. He stepped back as it swung open easily, the lock already unlatched. He stepped through into the hallway, checking each room as he went. The walls and floor had distinct water and scuff marks from previous tenants, but neither Keith or Shiro hadn’t bothered to clean anything in a long time. It didn’t matter how much dust they wiped away, another layer always seemed to appear the next morning.

Keith found Shiro in the kitchen, seated at the table. Shiro looked up from the cards splayed in front of him in a wide arc and smiled.

‘Good evening.’ He said.

‘You went out today.’ Keith said, busying himself with getting out plates and tinned food. Shiro’s smile dropped slightly, but the amusement never left his tone. ‘Is that illegal now?’

‘I thought we both agreed you would only go out if absolutely necessary. It doesn’t benefit any parties if you just get worse.’ And he had been getting much, much worse. High fever, sunken eyes, weight loss, fatigue, paleness. Keith had been monitoring Shiro as he had been declining over the past few months. He had been brushing Keith off, insisting he was in nothing but good health, but any sane person could see he was a shell of who he was before. It was only in the recent weeks when Shiro had told him maybe it was best for Keith to start working at the front of their store that Keith began to fully worry.

‘I haven’t been getting worse,’ Shiro mused, scanning the cards before him. ‘You’re just getting more paranoid.’ Keith ignored him, pouring the sludge from the cans into separate bowls. He set one in front of Shiro and sat across from him, taking a bite from a mystery vegetable. Food was usually bland, and because of their tightening budget it was even harder to find flavourful and fresh produce. Keith pointed his fork at the cards. ‘You bought tarot cards?’

‘I need to entertain myself. I can only talk to Red for so long.’ Keith glanced around the kitchen, but the familiar scarlet face of their cat was nowhere to be seen. ‘What’s in your future, fortune-teller?’ He asked as he turned back. Shiro bent over the table, splaying his fingers against the grain. ‘I’m not Mom, I can’t just glance at your palm and tell you your unborn child's blood type. This is an art that takes time.’ Keith rolled his eyes, swirling his cutlery around in the bowl. You either had the gift of seeing or not, and it was clear from Shiro’s practice that he didn’t. Shiro noticed Keith’s annoyance and grinned. ‘What? Are you pissed that I inherited the money maker genes?’

‘No, I’m just listening. Can’t you hear it?’

‘What?’

‘That noise. It’s our parents rolling in their graves. They want you to stop claiming their fame, oh righteous crystal gazer.’ 

Shiro laughed, his shoulders shaking. Keith joined in briefly, but stopped as he watched Shiro hunch over. His back curled over, and he hammered the table with his fist as his laughter turned into a violent coughing fit. Keith stood, rushing to his side. Slamming his fist into the middle of Shiro’s back, he almost cried out in desperation at how little help he was as Shiro’s white face bloomed red. Keith turned, looking around the room frantically. There was a glass drying next to the sink. Keith leapt forward, blasting water into the cup until it practically overflowed. He balanced it back to Shiro, who swept up the glass and tipped it back, splattering water across the floorboards. When his coughing subdued, he set the cup down and spat into it. Shiro slumped back, wiping his mouth. He looked over at Keith, and snorted at this expression. ‘Jesus, I’m not dead.’

Keith didn’t respond. He kept his focus on the glass and its contents. Blood floated at the surface, trickling down in thin ribbons to mingle with the clear water. ‘But you are dying.’ Keith said lowly. Shiro glanced at the glass, but didn’t say anything else. A silence settled over them as Keith collected their dishes and rinsed them. When he turned back to Shiro, his dark eyes were glazed over. He was utterly still, not a single muscle moving as his mind ticked over. He looked like a fresh corpse, Keith thought. Decomposing in that chair, this house. Keith clenched his fist. ‘I’m going to bed.’ Shiro said.

‘I’m going to Kerberos.’ Keith countered.

Shiro’s brows shot up. ‘That’s new.’

Keith pushed himself off the kitchen counter, coming to stand in front of Shiro so that all his attention was on him. ‘We both know you’re not getting any better. And losing you to some stupid disease is out of the question. Kerberos is bigger, better. More doctors, more knowledge. I’ll find someone, Shiro. Anyone.’ Shiro studied Keith, a curious expression on his face. ‘How are you going to pay them?’

‘Coins. Trade. Whatever they want, I can give them. If the debt takes years, I’ll pay it off.’ It was only when a small smile curled onto Shiro’s face that Keith recognised his look - humorous doubt. Keith felt a flick of annoyance. ‘You don’t believe me.’ He spoke with finality. Keith didn’t need verbal confirmation of what was written all over Shiro’s face.

‘I don’t think the bigger, better cities will trade their medicinal wisdom for two chickens and some firewood.’

Keith was on the border of frustration and anger. ‘I can do big deals. I’m going to Kerberos, Shiro. And I’m not coming back until I find someone willing to treat you. So stay alive in the meantime.’ With that, Keith turned on his heel and left the room to pack.

-

Keith was awake before dawn, listening to the hushed chatter of the birds over the roof. He had prepared everything for his journey the previous night. Kerberos was a full day trip, and so he only packed basics - rations, water, all the money he’d saved up, and a small carving knife for emergencies. Kerberos was densely populated with ruffians, and he had no intentions to die before making it back to Shiro. Slinging the pack across his shoulders, he made his way through the dark towards Shiro’s room. The door was ajar. Keith poked his head in, his eyes going straight to the sleeping form of his brother. He looked calm, peaceful. And he was breathing, which was reassuring.

As Keith ducked out, he heard a rustle. ‘Stay safe.’ Shiro mumbled. ‘Keep business good.’

Keith smiled as he made his way down the hall and gently closed the front door behind him. The horizon had begun to take on the color of faded fruit, a sure sign that the transition from night to day was about to begin. The conversation of the birds above grew louder in the anticipation. Keith whirled with a million thoughts as he set down the identical streets with identical houses to find someone to save his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accept both constructive and general criticism. I haven't written in a while and I'm nervous as fuck my dudes.
> 
> Also this is just the beginning, I was just setting things up, letting you know how things work! There's gonna be a bunch of elements that are from different eras (fortune telling, fantasy, hitmen, Middle Age weaponry, royalty etc) that are all just jammed into this story, but you'll just have to deal with it because it's my writing and not yours. Crazy right?


	2. Chapter 2

The carriage was narrow and smelt of horse shit. Keith tried to make himself more comfortable against the wooden floor, but it seemed everything in there was built in the effort to make one’s experience miserable. He tipped his head back, shutting his eyes in an attempt to get some rest. The sun had set, and he was almost blind in the darkness. It could only be a few more hours till he arrived. 

Paying for transport had been easy, it was the matter of finding someone willing to make the trip that had been the issue. Finally, a looming, large-framed man had taken his money. He had made his way through the markets, stopping at every stall with a horse and asking if they were interested, only to be met with small shakes of the head or silence. Along the walls of the entrance to the city he had found his willing customer, who was already packing his carriage with goods. 

‘I’m leaving for Kerberos myself. You might as well come,’ he had said gruffly as he counted the money he’d been given. When he seemed satisfied, he locked his piercing gaze on Keith. Keith fought the instinct to shrink under this beast of a man. Long white hair, golden eyes. He was the epitome of Galra. ‘I’m Thace, and this is Zialav.’ Thace gestured towards the dark draft horse behind him before hauling himself up into the coachmen's seat. ‘We’re not stopping for anything, got it? Maybe if you or I need to go to the bathroom, but that’s about it. Actually, no, not even that, my contract is too important. Just piss out the window.’ Keith nodded quickly before slipping into the back of the carriage, stepping over crates and sacks to squeeze himself into the corner.

Thace had been true to his word. They had not stopped their entire journey, and the steady rhythm of their travels was enough to make Keith doze off. When he’d woken, the warmth had been robbed from the air and the only light in the sky was the occasional flickering lamp post. He sat there in the darkness for what seemed days before he heard the loud rumble of cobblestone underfoot. Keith’s heart slammed in his chest, excitement and fear igniting in him. They’d arrived on the outskirts of Kerberos. The noise from the heart of the city carried over the walls, screams of laughter and the aroma of spices. 

Kerberos had always been bathing Marmora in shadow, but no one minded, not even the Marmorans. Keith had visited many times when he was younger, the memories splattered with joy - buying fruit with Shiro, gaping up at the intricate buildings, being led by his mother through the bustling crowds. None of those memories could take his mind off his concern for his brother. He had left so suddenly, slamming the door on Shiro almost as soon as he’d decided to make the trip. He pushed away the guilt before it could numb his already distraught mind, leaving it to be mulled over at a more fitting time. Keith stood and made his way across the carriage to get a better view. There were scatterings of people along the sides of the street, but no one spared a glance at the boy in the back of the carriage. Everyone wore elaborate clothing - sleek fur coats, leather gloves, metal-tipped boots. All intricate items that were far too expensive to even be considered for display in Marmora. Despite the sweeping size of the garments, Keith knew weapons were stashed underneath the fur and wool. If you took away the glamour of the city, Kerberos was little more than a showground for criminals to perform their worst acts. Keith clenched his hands tighter around his flimsy bag, grateful for the small reassurance of his carving knife.

They eventually slowed to a stop under an alcove of trees, and Keith heard Thace’s muffled footsteps on the grass as he came round to open the carriage. Thace shrugged behind him to the throng of people and brightly lit stores. ‘This is the West District. Cheapest place to stay. Not as tourist-y as you’d expect.’ Keith surveyed the buildings, the posters taped outside that advertised what awaited within in big block writing. Cafes, boutiques, merchant stands, pharmacies.

‘Are there any hospitals nearby?’ Keith asked.

‘There’s a clinic, I think. Up the far end of the street.’ Keith followed Thace’s eyes up through the street as it winded and disappeared out of sight around the corner. The West District reminded him of Marmora, only well-kept, and with more colour than Keith had ever seen in his lifetime. ‘Watch yourself, son. Nothings beneath anyone here.’ Keith swallowed, but quickly masked his fear. ‘Thank you for the trip.’ Thace nodded sharply, spun around and got to work heaving crates, as if Keith had never even been there. Keith turned away from Thace as well, his face becoming fully exposed to the crowds in the glow of an overhead streetlight. Still, no one craned their necks to stare at him, to wonder why a boy such as himself was in this city. He took a steading breath as he stepped out onto the path, walking as quickly as he could in the direction Thace had given him.

-

It wasn’t hard to find the medical centre, its red cross gleaming above the other neon signs and flashy letters. Inside, it was as white and spotless as any another clinic Keith had been to. People were scarce in chairs along the corners of the room, leaving a clear path towards the reception. Keith rushed forward, the nerves flying through his body so fast he swore there were sparks at his fingertips. He barely registered he’d crossed the room until the woman standing behind the desk looked up.

‘Excuse me, do y-’

‘Grab a number and take a seat.’ The woman snaked her arm across the desk to snatch a slip of paper from the ticket machine on the wall. She handed it to Keith, giving a strained smile before her eyes wandered back to the files she’d been surveying before he’d arrived. ‘Thanks.’ He muttered, pivoting around to join the other people slumped in their uncomfortable chairs. 

Keith smoothed out the ticket the woman had given him. Number 188. The chalkboard read 149. He shut his eyes, jogging his legs like a wind up toy. He was glad the receptionist had stopped him before he could say anything else. He didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth. _Hello, can you recommend your best doctor? Hello, my brother is dying and I could barely cover the fees to travel here, but please take pity on a weary traveller. Your finest remedy, please._

Keith was so caught in planning what to say he hadn’t noticed the commotion drawing the attention of the other waiting patients. A wispy blonde girl was leading a boy out of a private room, dragging him even. The reluctance was clear as he tried to bat her away. ‘Shove off, Romelle. I’m a top priority.’ The girl, Romelle, furrowed her brow, lavender eyes glowering. ‘We have actual patients who need care. You can’t walk in every time someone calls you a bad name, Lance.’ Despite his hesitation to leave, Lance wasn’t fully fighting her. He was taller than her, more muscular, he could easily flick her out of his way. Keith watched as they made their way across the room, Lance’s shoes occasionally squeaking as he tugged away. 

Romelle dumped Lance in a chair. ‘Sit,' she barked, ‘and if you skip the line again because you think you have big boy privileges you can stitch your own wounds.’ Lance rubbed his bound forearm, wincing. ‘I wouldn’t be abused like this at the Garrison Embassy. Their doctors are remarkable _and_ racy. I’ll say hi to Dr Ezor for you when I get back.’ Romelle said nothing as she retreated back to the room they’d appeared from, the door slamming behind her. ‘Take care!’ Lance shouted, smiling at the door Romelle vanished behind.

The expression of the other patients said it all. They either completed ignored Lance, were so deep in sleep they hadn’t heard the clamour, or wanted him to be any other place but here. Keith didn’t think much of it - people were constantly hot-headed in Marmora, either from drinking or just by their nature. This was just a small fit. Keith stared at Lance. What had he said? The boy across from him dwarfed his seat, but he wasn't restless. Lance leaned back in his chair, his azure eyes flitting in every direction. They settled on Keith, and white hot panic ran down his spine. He looked away hastily, just catching the briefest of smiles that Lance had offered him. What had he been thinking of? 

_I wouldn’t be abused like this at the Garrison Embassy. Their doctors are remarkable_ and _racy._

The Garrison Embassy. Right in the middle of Balmera and Krell, the Garrison Embassy housed only the most first-rate officers serving and sheltered all those who walked through their doors. Keith had heard about the small but brilliant medical wing that lay within, but knew very few people that had ever set foot in it. But this boy seated only a few paces away had.

Keith stood, his feet moving faster than his brain. He was walking forward, and before he could convince himself of what a bad idea this was he was sticking his hand out. 

Lance had been prodding at the bandages on his forearm, but at the sound of Keith’s steps he glanced up. His eyes widened as Keith thrust his palm forward. Keith wanted to camouflage into the wall and scold himself as Lance raised a brow at his outstretched hand. The tremor in his voice was tangible.

‘I’m Keith.’ He started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, thank you for the love. I'm currently on holidays so I can invest a lot of time in my writing. I'm not someone who can sit and write a chapter in one sitting, my creative juices run a little thin after a while. I'll try and stay consistent however, no matter how much I want to run my laptop into the ground. 
> 
> I'll see ya'll soon. Smash that mf like button.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith didn't know what to expect. Were the people in Kerberos as distant and hostile as those in Marmora? Judging by Lance's puzzled look, he could only imagine. He expected the boy to sniff and turn his pointy nose up, insulted by the mere thought of Keith's presence. But then Lance was beaming and shaking his hand quickly, easing immediately into small talk as if he was an old friend. Who was Keith? Where'd he hail from? Crazy weather they're having, isn't it? Relief flurried inside Keith, but it was only short lived. He wasn't here for a polite chat about how Mercury was in retrograde. He began diverting away from the sparkling conversation and onto the true reason for his approach, and Lance's smile flattered. His expression grew more and more firm as he listened to Keith, his eyes losing their shimmer and his mouth falling at the edges. When Keith wrapped up his great speech, Lance leaned back, digesting.

'You're serious? You want to go to the Garrison Embassy?'

Keith shrugged, searching for words as he felt a sweat break out over his neck under Lance's gaze. 'You...you were talking about it. I just figured you knew the way, and I've never been beyond Kerberos, so I thought you could help me out.' Lance drummed his fingers along the arm of his chair, sweeping his eyes away from Keith as he thought. As the silence drew longer between them, worry began to pool in Keith. He couldn't expect a stranger to go with him on such a long journey for so little money. He wished he'd never gotten up from his flimsy chair and strode across the room with so much false hope. That's all he'd been running on ever since he'd stepped off Thace's carriage, and it'd made him blind to how everyone else would be far too rational and responsible to leave their homes for some skittish outsider. And top it off, he sounded like a complete idiot. 

Lance turned back to him. 'I'll do it.' His tone was firm, sure.

Keith blinked, almost dropping to the floor with relief. 'What?'

'I'll do it,' Lance said, 'if you'll tell me what the fuck is going on. Is this a ploy? Did Hunk put you up to this? Tell him it's the most ill-thought-out prank he's ever pulled.' Keith didn't know how to process what Lance had thrown at him. He wiped his hands on his pants, cocking his head. 'I'm sorry?' He asked.

Lance waved his hands in the air in grand gestures as he spoke. 'You come up to me, monologuing this story about how desperately you need medical supplies for your brother who, if I heard right, is bleeding from his freaking eyes. And you expect me to believe this is an actual disease? Hunk knows how I feel about gore. Uncool, man.' As Lance's skepticism become more clear, Keith finally knew where his emotions were straying. Irritation simmered under Keith's skin as Lance ranted on. 'You know, honestly,' Lance mused, blissfully unaware as Keith clenched his fists, 'when you first walked up all shy I thought you were gonna ask me out, but then you hit me with that tale of woe and that possibility went straight out the window.' Lance's attempt to charm amongst his blatant insults did nothing but fuel Keith's anger. 

'Are you finished?' Keith asked, trying to keep his tone from grinding like sandpaper. Lance sighed. 'I suppose so. On the off chance you weren't hired by Hunk, I'll give it to you straight-'

'You haven't already?' Keith snapped, 'I just told you my brother is dying and you treat it like some cruel practical joke. You haven't taken me seriously since the moment I opened my mouth. You've been as straight as a circle, sir.' 

'Lance.'

'Pardon?'

'The name's Lance. Listen, you sound like a nice guy, but today's just not the day to approach me asking for big favours. I've been sliced up like salami, my fucking weapons have been stolen, and to top it off Romelle won't even let me skip the line anymore because I only pretended to like her sister. Honestly, not everythings coming up my way. Or yours, either. No can do, compadre.' Despite his overly sweet and sincere tone, Keith sensed Lance was still making him out to be one of Hunk's lackeys, whoever that was. His eyes were just narrowed enough that Keith saw his stubborn doubt. 

Keith tapped his foot, his mouth tight while he pondered. 'Is there anyone you can suggest who would go?' Lance snorted, clasping his hands together. 'Of course I can. There's always someone desperate for more money. You look in the right places, you'll find your man. But why the Garrison Embassy specifically? There's much finer hospitals.' 

Keith's anger was washed away by a wave of embarrasment. Of course, _of course_ there were much finer hospitals. He had just idealised the Garrison to be the one and only savior of Shiro. The wariness in Lance's tone shifted as he stared at Keith, at the red now seeping into his cheeks. Keith wanted nothing more than to look away. It was as if Lance was truly seeing him for the first time, his brow lowering. 'You're really from Marmora, aren't you?' Lance's eyes streaked up and down Keith, a small smile curling on his lips. 'If your fashions tells me anything, you're a hardcore native.' Keith felt the urge to defend his tattered jacket and shoes, but thought better of it. Who was he fooling? He stuck out like a sore thumb among the gleam of freshly washed coats and combed hair. Keith rubbed at his face. 'Of course I'm from Marmora. Where else would you find someone as grimy?'

Lance's face went dim for all of a second before he shot up out of his chair. Keith stepped back, watching as Lance streched his long limbs and shook out his legs. 'I've been here too long. Everyone will be wondering where I pissed off to.' He yawned, squinting under the luminescents above them. The clinic had gradually grown brighter as the night had somehow dipped further into darkness. People had filtered in and out, and very few now sat along the rows of chairs, heads sunk low. 'I'm getting a drink. I suggest you ask around, that's your best gamble.' Lance made a loose salute, his body already half way out the door before Keith could protest. 'Best of luck to you. Give solace to your brother for me.' And then Lance was gone, leaving the rusty frame to creak behind him.

Keith scoffed. 'Asshole.' He muttered, turning back to face the room. He couldn't take Lance's advice to 'ask around' here - people were in this clinic for a reason. Half of the clientele looked too old to hear him, and the other half could snap him in two with a flex of their arm. Keith glanced down at this ticket, then back up at the chalkboard - 155. There wasn't any point in staying around just to be patronized again, this time by a certified professional. _Why the Garrison Embassy, little boy? Are you not aware there is so much more out there in the big wide world? Here, let me write you a prescription for knowledge._ Keith exited the clinic, the little warmth his clothes had been storing forced out by the raw cold. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, huffing as he scanned the street.

The crowd on the pavement was as uninviting as ever. Everyone was too enthralled in their own group, and Keith sheepishly stepped out of the way of an incoming mass of people. A short girl on the outskirts of a trio shot him a foul look when he brushed against her. Keith began making distance between himself and the clinic, almost jogging along the concrete in an effort to clear his mind. So far his only connections in Kerberos were Thace, who wanted nothing to do with him, and Lance, who'd treated him like a child and had rejected his proposition as soon as he'd offered it. But Keith hadn't just wandered into Kerberos like a deer in headlights. He couldn't lose the one link he had that gave him some sense as to what he was doing. He'd just learnt there was far more than the Embassy, a place that was regarded in Marmora as the pinnacle of medical science. Keith skittered for answers as he weaved through the swarm of chatter around him. He replayed his conversation with Lance, trying to find anything that might snag his interest.

And then it was there, clear as crystal. Keith's heart sped up, not daring to entertain the possibility despite the ghost of a smile sweeping over his face. Where had Lance slithered off to? _I'm getting a drink._

As stores continued on, they seemed to get more fericiously competitive with each other. More light streaming from each window and more colour dyed across the walls than the next. However a single solitary building stood among the rest, no dazzling lights to draw the attention of those passing. Keith could just make out the black paint scrawled above the entry - _Hunk's Hut._ He watched as the door rattled open, a man and woman falling against each other and laughing hysterically as they toppled down the road. A bar. And by the looks of it, the only one on the street. He didn't stop anyone and ask for help as he marched, mentally tidying up his second proposal to Lance as he neared the coffee-coloured building. He headed straight for the door, squeezing his fingers in fear they would fall off from the icy air.

Just as he was turning the knob, a shatter of glass resounded from inside, followed by the holler of several men. Keith paused immediately, listening to the raised voices as they started to roar with laughter. Before he could unnerve himself into bolting, he pushed inside with a shaky breath. He was met with a greenly-lit hallway and not a single person in sight, only a single door at the end of the hallway that was on the verge of splintering into a million pieces. Keith flinched as it suddenly shook with the force of another bottle smashed against it. He didn't flatter as he strode towards the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if there's anything I should work on. I'm anxious about my shittiness as a writer, as no doubt every other author is. I love ya'll regardless.
> 
> I remember back in my fanfiction.net days I was told quite often my grammar was shite, so if there's any issues don't hesitate to call me out on it.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith had barely closed the door behind him when a figure was barrelling towards him. He shrunk back, fingers digging through his pockets to where his knife was nestled away. The man was stumbling past before he could act, face flushed as he swayed away, taking the bitter smell of a distillery with him. Keith remained glued to the door for a few seconds more, the knob poking into his back. The bar had no windows, and was purely lit by table lanterns and candles that wove around shelves and the bannister that disappeared into the storey above. Everything was a collection of timber and brick, and Keith couldn't tell if the room was ten seconds or ten years away from collapsing. 

Prying himself from the door, he sought Lance's silhouette out among all the backs turned to him. The laughter had simmered down when Keith had come in, but it was back in full swing, everyone absorbed in their conversation. To his relief, no one here looked like intimidation incarnate. Keith noticed that the few soldiers that lingered weren't the impassive statues he saw stationed out on guarding towers or checking transport. They lounged around, grinning at their companions, hands resting easily on their batons. Keith made his way towards the counter at the back wall, keeping a distance between himself and the uniformed men. 

The man behind the bar spared Keith the briefest of glances, his attention already on another patron. Keith gingerly hauled himself onto a stool, bracing himself for the inevitable moment the legs would groan and give out. But it never happened, and the bartender was making his way towards him before he knew it. 'You new?' He asked. At this point, Keith had come to terms with how unexpected Kerberos had been. The memories with his family were a false sense of security - of course he had felt invincible as a child, running along with his brother. Nothing could stop them. But now he was older and alone, and he didn't have Shiro to fall back onto. Keith knew he looked every part the novice to this city and its streets. The bartender waited in silence as Keith came back to the conversation.

'I just arrived tonight.' Keith said.

The bartender slid a glass across to Keith. 'You'd be tired. What's your pick-me-up?' Keith had never been a drinker. Alcohol in Marmora tasted like gasoline and stained his throat. The drinks that lined the shelves however looked nothing like the brown stained bottles he'd seen littering the streets of his home. They gleamed yellow and green and blue in the candlelight, dancing with the shadow as people moved about. Keith swept his tongue along the roof of his mouth - he hadn't had much to drink at all. 'Just water, thanks.' The barkeep didn't question any further, instead pouring chilled water into his cup. The man across from him contradicted himself in almost every way. His mouth was set in a hard line, but as soon as it opened he was either laughing or making idle conversation. He looked to be an unwieldly sort, made up of such solid structure Keith wondered how he could handle such fragile glass. He could only imagine how large his muscles were under that brown skin. Yet he glided around the bar, everything he touched being treated as delicately as ever. 

When he'd drained up the last of his water, Keith turned his attention back to the hulking man. 'Do you know someone called Lance? He came in just before I did.' He asked.

The man's dark eyes finally sparked with a glimmer of interest. 'What business?' 

'It's unfinished. I had a proposal for him. He left before it got anywhere.'

The bartender nodded absentmindedly, his concentration on Keith already dwindling. 'That's unfortunate, but I don't permit lover's quarrels within five feet of the premises. Take it up in your own time.' 

Much to his horror, Keith felt his face heat. He contemplated tipping backwards out of his chair and heading for the door, but there were more embarrassing things that could happen then a stranger mistaking your annoyance for romance. 'I have a business proposal, is what I mean. I just want to talk to him.' Keith waited as the man poured drinks for the soldiers that had just sauntered over. Keith stood, fidgeting with his glass as the bartender made his way back. He assessed Keith for a moment before nudging his head towards the ceiling.

'Normally, I would respect a paying customer's privacy. Normally, I wouldn't be telling you that the idiot you seek is staying in room 3. But Lance is behind on rent, so you have my blessing.' 

Keith bowed his head both in farewell and gratitude. 'Thank you.' With that, he pushed himself off the counter and was making his way up the spiral staircase. The candlelight dwindled the further he went up, the racket of the lower floor vanishing as he ascended into the darkened hallway above. Besides the worn out carpet, that had perhaps once been a vibrant green, the entire hall was doused in a sickening white. Keith could smell the still drying paint as he walked past the first few rooms. The tourist market in Marmora was far from thriving, and there was never any need for grand hotels. Keith had seen plenty of accommodation like this however, nestled away at the top of taverns or bordellos. It didn't take long before he stood in front of a metallic 3 nailed into a door.

Years seemed to pass after he knocked. He could hear nothing behind the wooden frame. Perhaps he was asleep? Keith frowned. It was likely. It was past midnight - only those looking for trouble or turning in were on the streets. Keith took a step back as the knob began rattling. The door swung open, and there Lance was. He was far from asleep, Keith noticed. Lance's eyes were slightly glazed as they sped over Keith. Lance smiled, bracing an arm against the frame. He'd changed into a form fitting dark turtleneck and slim pants. Hardly bed attire. 'Hello. Hunk send you up? Have I been naughty again?' Keith blinked, and the previous anger he'd felt in the clinic came back in a tidal wave. 'No,' he bit out, 'I'll keep this quick. You clearly got that drink you wanted.' 

Recognition came slow to Lance, but when the light finally switched on, his smile only grew wider. 'Oh shit, the Marmoran. Good morning. To what do I owe this pleasure?' 

'You said you wouldn't take me to the Garrison Embassy. But that was on the grounds that I had nothing to offer you but the coin in my pocket. Now I have something better.'

Lance rolled his eyes. 'I don't know how you guys get down in Marmora, but usually when someone tells you no, it's quite self-explanatory.'

Shiro had drilled Keith on keeping their small business good, reputable. But he didn't know who Lance was, Lance didn't know who he was, and it was unlikely they'd cross paths in the seedy markets of his home. Keith crossed his arms. 'I wouldn't be standing here, talking to _you_ , if it wasn't important.' Lance shrugged before giving a short belch. He patted his chest, laughing. 'Excuse me. You interrupted my me time, but I'm all ears now.' Keith crinkled his nose as the smell of whatever piss water Lance had been drinking wafted over to him. 

'I can get you a Marmoran longsword.' Keith said. He waited for Lance to react, but the smile never left his face. It had been a shot in the dark, really, to declare he could obtain such an item. Several heartbeats later, Lance piped up. 'That's a heavy claim.'

'I wouldn't be throwing it out there if it weren't true. You have no weapons anymore, right? I can get you the best one.' Marmoran longswords were sparse and rare - notorious for being indestructible and the few that still existed were priceless. Keith had twisted the truth to a degree. He could get one, that much he knew, but he'd have to search under each and every floorboard under the sun. Perhaps if she was still alive, his mother could've shown him where she'd stowed away the family heirloom. But if she'd known he'd planned to just hand it over to a near stranger...

Keith almost retracted his offer, but Lance intervened. 'Any smart person would sell that sword for an amazing doctor to tend to their sick brother. If you had such a sword, this trip was a waste.' Lance's face was bereft of amusement, but the smile never left. He reminded Keith of a shark. Dead eyes, but rows upon rows of white, white teeth. 'You're no halfwit, you know your craft. But this wasn't well thought out.'

'Guess it slipped my mind. You don't have time to ponder when your brother is on his deathbed.' 

You could ram a truck through the silence that followed.

Lance flipped his palms upwards as if to say _fair enough_. 'Alright. Give me tonight to think about it.' He gestured towards the staircase. 'Rent a room from Hunk. The giant behind the bar, can't miss him.' That was Hunk? Keith hesitated before he spun away. Lance's door was already shutting.

'How'd you know I was blacksmith?' 'Known his craft', as it'd been put. Lance poked his head out, the light from within the room silhouetting him against the softly lit hallway.

'You might want to wash your hands from time to time.' Keith didn't have to look down to know they were covered in the residue of soot. He curled his fingers, stuffing a hand in his pocket. When Lance didn't slither back into his den eager to return to his activities, Keith let the other questions he'd been storing up cloud his mind. Why was this his plan of action? Was he really this stupid? How could he follow a boy no older than him? But he only let a single query slip out.

'How d'you know I'll stay true to my word and get you what you want?'

Lance's eyes wandered along the ceiling as he thought. He was growing bored with the conversation. 'How do you know I'll stay true to mine? It's business. A simple trade of goods. A certain amount of trust is required among us professionals. Besides, if you did go behind my back I'd just have to kill you.' Lance smiled yet again, something Keith was coming to realise was a shining trademark of his. Keith frowned. That was hardly reassuring, even if Lance's words had been coated in sugar.

'You got a name?' Lance asked.

'Keith.'

'Well, Keith, I'm going to bed. We'll need to be out of here by dawn, so lets hope you're an early bird. Sleep tight.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently watching Rocky Horror (bless Frank Furter) and school holidays are about to end. 
> 
> Hope ya'll are having a blessed day.


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